grl2grl Read online

  Chad’s clone, Dirk the Jerk, blurted out, “Yeah. What if we’re confirmed bachelors, like me and my homeboy Chad here?”

  Mrs. Errasco smirked. “You’ll be playing a lot of solitaire, won’t you?”

  Catcalls. Whoops. Dirk whistled. Errasco didn’t answer the question. She stood poised with the blackboard eraser in her hand and said, “Do you have these down? There are four more reasons.”

  I piped up, “Answer the question. Because I’d like to know too.”

  Mrs. Errasco glared at me. Everyone did. What else is new? She’d hated me from day one when I’d asked if we were going to talk about same-sex stuff in here or if I was just wasting my time with so-called “Sex Ed.”

  “We’re not supposed to do it until marriage, okay?” I repeated. “But what if we’re not allowed to get married? Like me. How long am I supposed to wait?”

  Chad muttered, “Until the cows come home. Mooo.”

  I spun around and flipped him the bird.

  Chad held up his hands defensively.

  Errasco ignored us and erased the board.

  “I’m serious, Mrs. Errasco. How does this abstinence theory apply to us? Are we never supposed to have sex? Ever?”

  She set the eraser in the chalk tray and faced front. The atmosphere in the room shifted. Desks creaked. A pencil broke. Minds? Did they shake loose? Doubtful.

  “Well, Aimee.” Errasco’s eyes lit on me. “I guess that’s between you and your god.”

  I stormed out after class. My god? My god? What did she know about my god? She probably thought since I was gay, I was godless. Against religion. But I’m not. I have a god. I go to church. My god isn’t her god. My god doesn’t scorn or condemn me. My god is kind and benevolent and accepting. We made a sacred pact. I’d be the best person I could be and God would save me a place in heaven. My heaven. The real one, where it doesn’t matter who you are or how you look or how you sacrifice your dignity and self-respect most days just to be true to yourself.

  “Aimee, hold up.” A person fell into step beside me. “That was a good question.”

  My head swiveled. Peyton Faulk? I stopped dead. Peyton Faulk was talking to me? We used to be best friends. We carpooled together to school and soccer and gymnastics and scouts. To swimming lessons, dance lessons until…

  Until my parents divorced. Until we moved to inner-city housing. Until Peyton stopped talking to me.

  You find out who your true friends are. In times of need.

  “Errasco’s answer was lame. She blew you off.” Peyton stuck out her tongue. She had a silver stud that made her look slutty.

  “What’d you expect?” I said. “What else could she say?” Don’t ask me why I was defending Mrs. Errasco. I didn’t need Peyton Faulk defending me.

  Peyton said, “I expected her to take your question seriously, at least.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s a big joke. Like me.”

  I jogged off again and arrived at my locker. As I reached up to spin the dial, Peyton hovered behind me, breathing down my neck. I yanked open the door and backed into her. “What?” I sniped. “Do you have an answer? Life sucks. Nothing’s fair. Nothing’s equal. Your sanctimonious morals don’t apply to us.” Us — like there was anyone else to defend. I was the only out lesbian at school.

  Peyton’s face flushed. “That’s not…” She swallowed hard. “You’re right. It isn’t fair. It isn’t easy for us either. This whole stupid abstinence movement. ‘Wait training.’ I mean, God. It’s unnatural. Biologically. Emotionally. Even spiritually.”

  “Oh boo hoo, Peyton. You have it so rough.” I ground a knuckle into my eye socket. Then thought, Damn. I just smeared my makeup.

  Peyton’s lips pinched. Her eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t such a bitch, people might actually care about what you thought.” She squeaked a pivot and stomped off.

  My face stung, like she’d slapped me.

  I hate you, Peyton Faulk. I hate people who get to me.

  Peyton. It bugged me all day. Her talking to me, opening a dialogue. My pact with God to be a good person. How much dignity do we have to sacrifice to get to heaven?

  I hunted Peyton down after school. She was sitting on the retaining wall, joking around with Chad Bennett. I’d seen them hanging out together. She could do better.

  Okay, this was going on my Saint Aimee scroll. I summoned courage and swallowed pride.

  “So. You guys. What’s up?”

  Peyton and Chad froze, like freeze-frame. Chad said, “Who’s asking?”

  Peyton elbowed him in the ribs. He oofed.

  “Not much,” she replied. “What’s up with you?”

  Enough chitchat. “I’m glad you’re both here,” I said. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. About being a bitch today in Errasco’s class.”

  Chad eyed me up and down. “What about the rest of the time?”

  “Shut up.” Peyton fisted his chest. “I’m sorry too,” she said to me. “I just wanted to have a conversation with you is all.”

  Until she’d ambushed me it hadn’t even registered that she was in my health class. She was invisible to me. Okay, not entirely. But she inhabited a different dimension. I adjusted the stack of books in my arm and asked, “A conversation about what?”

  Peyton’s eyes fixed on mine. “Cramps. I get ’em bad with my period and I wanted to know if you had any Midol.”

  “Ugh.” Chad shuddered. “Mature subject matter. Parental guidance suggested.” He leapt off the wall and mumbled, “Catch you later, Pey.” He took a wide berth around me and swaggered off.

  She grinned. “Now that we’re rid of him…”

  There was an awkward silence between us. History. Like how do you break down a barrier that’d been built over time? Reinforced with resentment and anger?

  Peyton set her purse on the other side of her and patted the spot Chad had vacated.

  She couldn’t order me around.

  She opened her mouth and curled the tip of her tongue against her teeth. Her stud glistened. She arched her eyebrows. I exhaled surrender. Setting my tower of books on the ledge, I hoisted myself up. Without grunting, I’m proud to say.

  “It isn’t natural,” Peyton said. “We can’t ignore our biological urges. We’re meant to procreate and carry on the species.”

  Procreate? “Is Darwin required reading now?”

  She just looked at me.

  The whole procreation thing made me a little queasy. Just thinking about what guys and girls did together… Not the girls so much.

  Peyton laughed suddenly. “You should see your face.”

  I shook my head, a smile twisting my lips.

  “I want to have sex,” she said.

  My jaw unhinged.

  She shoved me. “Not with you.”

  “Thank God.”

  She laughed.

  A cluster of people passed. Peyton’s people. Upper crust. They stopped to chat, make arrangements, synchronize their pods. Finally they noticed me polluting their space and dispersed. I waited until they were out of earshot, near the quad, before asking, “Who do you want to have sex with? Not Chad Bennett, I hope.”

  Peyton rolled the end of her tongue again. “He’s not so bad. He has a good heart.”

  “Where is it? In his crotch?”

  She let out a little huff. Then grinned. “Yeah, pretty much.” Peyton gripped the corner of the ledge and rocked forward. “I’m just saying it’s normal and natural for us to do it. To want to. We’re programmed for sex. It’s instinct, and hormones, and drive.”

  “We’re fucking sex machines,” I deadpanned.

  “Exactly.” She looked at me. “You know it’s true.”

  Heat rose up my neck. “Do you really want to do it with Chad?” I asked.

  She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t tell him.”

  “Are you kidding me? Peyton, I thought, raise your standards. “Chad!” I hollered toward the quad. “Get a condom —”

  Pey
ton’s hand flew at my mouth. I intercepted it with a stiff wrist. The force was unexpected and Peyton slipped off the wall, stumbling on her landing. I jumped down to catch her. Or cushion her fall. We ended up in each other’s arms.

  I let go fast. One of her flip-flops bounced to the wall and I retrieved it. Crouching, I helped her back into it. Flashback. We’re kids playing Cinderella. It’s our favorite role play. Peyton’s the princess. I’m the prince. We get married in her playhouse.

  It took a moment before Peyton realized I was clutching her ankle. She kicked back harder than necessary.

  I staggered to stand. “Like I’d ever want you,” I snarled. I recovered my books and stalked off.

  “Aimee.” She raced up in front of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Her chin dropped. “Stupid.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to act with you.”

  A minute passed. We stood there, avoiding each other’s eyes. Wow, people grow apart. People you think you’ll always be friends with. The princess turns into a frog. The prince falls on her ass.

  “Is it the same for you?” Peyton asked. Her voice sounded funny. Was she scared of me? She should be. I was a dangerous dyke.

  What’d she mean, the same for me? When I didn’t answer right away, she added, “When you meet a girl. Do you want to, like —“

  “Fuck her?”

  Peyton’s eyes widened.

  “I like to know her name first,” I said.

  She smacked my shoulder. “Seriously.”

  Seriously? “Yeah,” I answered. “I guess it’s the same. I don’t know.”

  “But only girls?”

  “And chipmunks.”

  She whapped me again.

  “I don’t want to do Chad Bennett, if that’s what you’re asking. Or any guy.”

  “Have you had sex?”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Sorry.” She grimaced. “It’s none of my business.”

  “No,” I said. “Not yet.” Don’t ask me why I told her that.

  “Me neither,” she said.

  “Seriously?”

  She frowned. Her face paled. “Why? What have you heard?”

  I scoffed. “Like anyone talks to me.”

  A clot of cheerleaders bounced by and went, “Hey, Pey.”

  “Hey.” She waited until they passed. Biting her lip, she said, “I’ve come close. I haven’t had intercourse.” She blinked. “Do you have intercourse?”

  “Only with chipmunks.”

  She balled a fist in my face.

  I didn’t know what to say. What’s the equivalent? When does a lesbian lose her virginity? “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  She smiled. She still had that one deep dimple.

  Peyton said, “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” She reached into her purse and fished out her keys. “Mom actually let me have the car today.”

  “How is your mom?” I asked. Last I heard her parents had split too. I’d wanted to call her so bad. Reconnect.

  I should’ve taken the step. I cared. You know? I knew how it felt.

  “She’s okay,” Peyton answered. “She works too hard. She has a boyfriend now.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “Doug.”

  “Duuug,” I imitated her.

  She stuck out her tongue stud. “They don’t practice abstinence. I can hear them through the wall.”

  “Ew. Gross.”

  “Totally.”

  The thought of my mom ever doing it…

  “I could drop you off at home,” Peyton said. “Say hi to your mom.”

  “Sure. Okay. She’d like that.”

  We walked to the parking lot together. Out of nowhere, Peyton said, “I’ve missed you, Aimes. I’m glad we talked today. Why did we stop talking?”

  “You tell me,” I said. “You dumped me.”

  “No, I didn’t!” She whirled. “You moved.”

  “We still went to the same school. You’re the one who moved — away from me.”

  She hesitated. “You were different. You were… . You didn’t need me anymore.”

  “Yes, I did! I needed you more than ever!” I was almost shouting. My parents got divorced. I was coming out. I needed her.

  She pressed her tongue against her teeth. “I wanted to call you so many times.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Why didn’t you?”

  My eyes pooled with tears. She blinked real fast.

  “Stupid,” she muttered.

  Yeah. Stupid. Abstinence is emptiness. Unnatural separation. It doesn’t make sense.

  Unexpectedly, Peyton hugged me. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged me.

  Peyton unlocked the car doors and we both got in. “Hey, Pey?” I buckled up.

  She cranked over the ignition. “Yeah?”

  I said, “If you’re choosing between abstinence and Chad Bennett? Choose abstinence.”

  Boi

  I was four when my cousin, Kevin, said, “You want to see my penis?” and I said, “Yeah,” and he let me touch it. It felt squishy at first, then hard in my hand. I wanted one. Every day after that, I wanted one. My own penis. Mine.

  The day I got it was the happiest day of my life. I could stop stuffing socks in my briefs. With my penis I could pack. Bind and pack. Thank you, cousin Kevin. Best bud in the world. Like a bro to me. Thank you for performing a degrading act of humiliation to buy me a penis.

  I’d been binding, wrapping myself since I was twelve. Since my boobs showed through my T-shirts. Sports bras worked for a while, then my boobs got too big and I started wrapping. The best wrap was Ace Bandage. It bound real tight. I could really smash my boobs flat in stretchy wrap. Even in a sleeveless shirt, you could barely tell I was a ze. A s/he.

  My packer was a strap-on. Guys sometimes named their penises, like Willie or Jack or Dick. Real creative. Me, I had more respect for mine. It wasn’t an object; it wasn’t detached or separate from me. My packer was a part of me. It made me. The shaft was big in size, six inches. Four bucks an inch. $23.99. You could get soft packers online, cock socks and compression vests. But I didn’t have a credit card. You had to be twenty-one to buy at Fascinations and you had to show ID. I asked, begged, pleaded with Kevin to buy me a packer. Please, Kevin? Please? He refused to set foot in a place like that, a sex shop. I told him I’d clean his apartment for a year. I told him I’d scoop his cat box. I’d iron his boxers. I’d scour his john. Please, Kevin. PLEASE.

  The day he agreed I came as close to crying as I ever had.

  Kevin insisted on cash so incriminating evidence wouldn’t show up on his Visa. When he hustled back to the truck and flung the paper bag at me, he said, between clenched teeth, “Don’t ever ask me to do something like that again, Eva.”

  “Vince, not Eva,” I reminded him. “I promise. Thanks.” I wouldn’t. I’d treasure my P. I’d guard it with my life. “Thanks, Kevin.”

  I could either tuck it into the harness that wound around my hips and joined at the pubic bone, or I could tape the shaft behind, between my legs. The harness straps were white elastic. Not black leather, like porn or anything. It was built for utility.

  I liked the thickness of it — of me — in the mirror, standing forward, to the side, astride a chair. But for school, for public use, I’d duct tape it underneath. That way no one would know I was packing and I could feel the security of it between my legs at all times.

  Oh man. Thanks, Kevin. My P was sweet.

  Mom dumped me on Grams and Gramps when I was a baby. That was fine. Mom was nineteen and a junkie. Who needed that? She showed up to reclaim me years later, but it was too late, you know? She’d cleaned up; got a new life, a new husband. She had a son now too. I have news for you, Mom. You got two sons. A bio boy and a trans boi.

  I told Grams I didn’t even want to see my mom. Ex-mom. She’d crossed my mind exactly twice in sixteen years. Once when I wondered how I got born a girl when I wasn’t. T
wice when I blamed her for polluting the gene pool. Kids, this is your DNA on drugs.

  Grams and Gramps raised me. They raised Kevin too. We were their only grandkids. They hadn’t done so well raising their own kids, my mom and uncle, who both turned out like crap. I guess by the second time around you’ve learned from your mistakes. You do it right.

  I’d probably go live with Kevin after high school unless Grams needed me. She was getting up there. Kevin graduated two years ago and was going to trade school part-time to be a mechanic. That guy could fix anything. He was always tinkering with the toaster or a leaky faucet or a baby bird with a broken wing. When I was eight, some nasty boys busted up my bike. They stole it and slashed the tires and bent the frame. They must’ve rammed that bike into the side of a house a hundred times to mangle the handlebars so bad. I figured I’d be a pedestrian from then on, but there came Kevin with my bike, carting the pieces home in a wagon. He hammered at that frame in the garage all night and was still hammering away the next morning. When I got home from school there was my bike sitting in the driveway looking brand-new. It wasn’t that new to begin with. That baby gleamed.

  Kevin had a way with broken parts, and people. He stayed by Gramps’s bedside that whole last month of the cancer. They talked sports and cars and gladiolas. Gramps loved his garden. Kevin loved working on cars, vintage models. He kept Gramps’s T-bird purring like a kitten. Until the day we buried Gramps, that car hummed a happy tune. After the funeral, Kevin set it on fire and pushed it off a cliff.

  On Wednesday Kevin picked me up to take me to work. Right away he knew something was different. “That’s a new look for you, dude,” he said, checking me out as I slid into his Hummer. I buckled up.

  “Yeah. Chicks were crawlin’ all over me today.” I straightened the slipknot on my tie.

  Kevin snorted. He checked the rearview and popped the clutch.

  Kevin got me. Grams was going blind from macular degeneration or something so she wasn’t on my case so much anymore about the crew cut. She didn’t notice I’d started wearing Gramps’s clothes either. Kevin noticed. He didn’t yell at me or anything. Just looked me over. Approved, I guess. I didn’t find myself doused with gasoline and plunging off a cliff.